


though the stars walk backward

by chevrolangels



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, Astronaut Castiel (Supernatural), Astronaut Dean Winchester, Castiel and Dean Winchester Need to Use Their Words, Doctor Dean Winchester, Fluff and Angst, Getting Back Together, Happy Ending, M/M, Military Pilot Castiel (Supernatural), Miscommunication, One Shot, Outer Space, Post-Break Up, Second Chances, Space Stations, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:47:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26375962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chevrolangels/pseuds/chevrolangels
Summary: Prompt #24: You’re my ex but I think I still have feelings for youFrom thisprompt listForprincessjimmynovak!This was requested approximately  a million years ago and I finally finished it!! Happy belated birthday darling 💜Feat. Space Ex-Boyfriends who are bad at talking to each other. So canon. But in space. (Dean has always wanted to be an astronaut, lbr)
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 14
Kudos: 162





	though the stars walk backward

**Author's Note:**

> “Trust your heart if the seas catch fire, live by love though the stars walk backward.”  
> ― E.E. Cummings

“New crop of cadets coming in today.”

“I know.”

Charlie bites into her apple, munching as she scans her screen.

“Hope they’re better than the last ones. Half of ‘em couldn’t tell the difference between a spectrometer and an ammeter.”

Castiel doesn’t comment. He’s too on edge to indulge Charlie today, so he just shrugs, swiveling his chair back in front of the control panel. 

Everything’s on autopilot, like always, but he likes to check the nav-console by hand, every once in a while, if nothing but to prove his usefulness. Wouldn't do to have the computer shift a few degrees without anyone noticing and end up halfway to Alpha Centauri. 

“I mean, what do they think we _do_ up here? Run pretty tests for fun?” Charlie continues. “Like, one leak is the difference between life and death.”

Castiel makes a noncommittal noise and starts typing in the complicated sequence with his stylus, the starmap projected before him, their course pulsing with gentle blue light. 

“I mean, they’re gone for all that time, least the Academy can do is make sure they’re prepared.”

Castiel bites his tongue, typing with perhaps a little more force than is necessary. He loves Charlie, but her ranting is really starting to get to him. Castiel might be the best pilot this side of the Pleiades, but hey. He’s only human.

“If they send me one more programmer who asks me how to do an abstraction, I’m going to―”

“Charlie, do you mind?” Castiel snaps. “I’m trying to concentrate here.”

He regrets it immediately. Charlie does go quiet, but makes a thoroughly overdramatic roll of her chair into Castiel’s eyeline. She raises an eyebrow.

“Somethin’ you wanna share with the class there, bud?”

Castiel exhales, rolling his shoulders. 

“Sorry. I just...need to focus.”

“...Right.”

A decidedly sneaky look crosses her face, one that Castiel _knows_ spells trouble.

She leans forward, propping her chin up on her hands.

“Is it because you gotta do the whole ‘Captain Thing’ later?” She asks. “Shake hands, greet the greets, that whole deal?”

Castiel acquiesces.

“Partly.”

He quickly finishes the rest of the code and enters it into the nav-console, sinking back in his seat. Charlie purses her lips. 

“And I’m sure it has nothing to do with the fact that the teaching staff is coming back, huh.”

Castiel keeps his face carefully neutral, even as he feels the back of his neck grow hot. He fiddles with the stylus in his hands, turning it over and over again.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Uh-huh.”

Charlie taps her chin, looking thoughtful.

“What’s it been, two years?” She whistles, drawing it out. “Long time.”

Castiel just grunts. He should be getting up, to change into his uniform for the new batch of arrivals, but he makes no attempt to move. 

“Dean’s coming back, too, right?”

Castiel snaps the stylus in half.

  
  


Charlie grins.

Castiel looks down at his hand, shoving the broken stylus into his pocket.

“If he is, I haven’t heard anything about it,” he says loftily. “And whether he does or not certainly doesn’t affect _me_.”

Charlie tilts her head.

“Didn’t they send the transfer roster last week?”

Castiel glares at her. She smirks back, giving him a cheeky wink.

Castiel abruptly pushes back from the console, standing.

“I have to go change,” he says shortly. 

Once he gets to his quarters and the door slides closed behind him, Castiel sinks back against it, dropping his head in his hands. 

  
  


Two years. Two years since Castiel chose to stay, and he chose to leave. Two years, of long lonely nights in front of the computer, of avoiding the Observation Deck, of throwing himself into his work. Two years in which Castiel thought he’d successfully ridded every last trace of Dean Winchester from his life. 

After that night, Castiel had thrown away everything he’d ever given him. Every trinket, every gift, every scrap of paper―pathetic trophies of infatuation that Castiel had saved like a fool, pressed between the pages of his books. 

The rest of the ship noticed, of course, because how could they not―Charlie, especially, had been particularly persistent in trying to get Castiel to tell her what happened. But Castiel resolutely refused to talk about him, and glowered sufficiently at any mention of his name that eventually people just learned to stop bringing him up.

But time marches ever onward, and the training cycle at the Academy is complete. The institution that Dean fled to in the first place is now spitting him back out, thrusting him back into Castiel’s life.

Castiel presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. How is he going to stand in front of nearly three hundred people and shake his hand? Just the mention of his _name_ made Castiel want to throw something, bringing back all those memories Castiel tried so hard to forget. It may have been two years, but everything that made the man named Dean Winchester the best part of his life is still imprinted in Castiel’s memory, like a brand. 

It’s times like this when Castiel wishes he could be like one of Charlie’s computers, erasing all information at the touch of a button. There would be no pain, no memories―like he had never existed in the first place.

Castiel exhales, looking down at his hands.

He’ll just have to make it quick. It really wouldn’t do for the captain to start a fistfight in front of the entire crew.

  
  


x

  
  


Roughly thirty minutes later, Castiel finds himself standing stiffly at the end of the receiving line of officers, the collar of his uncomfortable dress uniform cutting into his neck. Something must be off with the temperature regulators in the receiving deck, because he’s sweating, a few locks of hair slipping loose from his hat. He attempts to comb them back into place until Naomi hisses at him to stop fidgeting.

Charlie is beside him as Chief Engineering Officer. She cranes her neck above the crowd, looking at the small group that’s just disembarked from the transport ship.

“Showtime,” she says, adjusting her gloves. 

Castiel closes his eyes briefly, breathing in. He can do this.

The new ones pass through first, freshly graduated, young and starry-eyed. Castiel can appreciate their eager enthusiasm. It’s important work they do here on the ship, and they need the best crew to make it possible. They shake his hand vigorously, hopefully interpreting his tight-lipped stare as stoic strength.

Then, the officers. 

Hannah, who Castiel has always liked, gives him a warm smile and clasps his hands, telling him how much they missed him. Castiel agrees with the sentiment, but he can barely focus during their conversation, continually darting his eyes towards the end of the line.

The procession inches forward, painfully slow. Cain, Chief Military Strategist, is next, then Billie, and Linda Tran. Crowley, a truly despicable human being, but perhaps the most brilliant Flight Engineer Castiel’s ever worked with, passes with a slimy smile―and then, a face Castiel hasn’t seen in a long time.

“Captain Novak,” Sam says warmly, reaching out to shake his hand. “It’s been a while.”

Castiel smiles back, unable to help himself.

“It has,” he agrees, taking his hand. Despite whatever may have happened between him and his brother, Castiel always liked Sam. “I can’t tell you how much we’ve missed you during your absence.”

Sam nods, dropping Castiel’s hand.

“Believe me, we missed it here, too,” he says, smiling. “You never know how good you have it until you have to spend time way out in the boonies.” 

Castiel chuckles. He remembers. The time at the Academy might be necessary, but it certainly couldn’t be called comfortable.

Sam turns, indicating the cadets behind them.

“We’ve got a good group for you here, Cas,” he says, dropping the nickname with easy familiarity. “I think you’ll be happy with them.” 

“Good to hear,” Castiel replies. “I’m sure they benefited from having you as a teacher.”

Sam shrugs, ever modest.

Naomi clears her throat from behind them, not-so-subtly encouraging him to move it along. Sam smiles and gives Castiel a small little salute, moving away. 

Castiel sighs, tugging at his collar. To his left, he hears a low chuckle.

“Still hate that uniform, huh?”

Castiel stiffens.

He’d know that voice anywhere.

He slowly lowers his hand, looking up into the face he tried two years to forget.

  
  


“Hey, Cas,” Dean says softly, smiling. 

His eyes are bright, shining, like he _wants_ to be here. Funny. Castiel seems to remember he went halfway across the star system just to get away from him.

He extends a hand, holding it out for Castiel to shake.

Castiel clears his throat, but doesn’t move.

“Dr. Winchester,” he replies stiffly. “Welcome back.”

Dean chuckles.

“Oh, right,” he says sheepishly. “I gotta call you ‘Captain Novak’, now, huh? Sorry.”

He looks up, that soft smile returning.

“Old habits, I guess,” he murmurs.

His hand is still extended, in the distance between them. Naomi must be practically foaming at the mouth at such a lack of decorum. Castiel couldn’t care less.

Dean looks exactly the same, perhaps a few more lines around his eyes, still that perfect shade of green. Dean's eyes always reminded Castiel of Earth.

Dean seems to be thinking along the same lines. He looks Castiel up and down, gaze lingering for a moment on the few locks of hair Castiel knows must still be stubbornly escaping from beneath the brim of his hat.

“You haven’t changed at all,” Dean continues. “Even after two years.”

“And three months, six days,” Castiel says coolly. 

Dean’s smile fades a little.

“Right.”

He pulls back his hand, awkwardly picking at the edge of the hat in his hands.

Castiel’s heart is beating wildly, but he keeps his face still as stone. Dean shifts uncomfortably, then seems to make a decision.

He leans in, lowering his voice.

“Look, Cas, you know I always hated this formal junk,” he murmurs. “Can we talk later, maybe?”

He sounds so cavalier, so oblivious, and Castiel hates it.

“Catch up?” Dean asks. “Away from all these people?”

Castiel gives him his coldest stare. 

“I don’t think so, Dr. Winchester,” he says sharply. “Running this ship is a full time job.”

Dean blinks, and he stares at him, looking like he’s just been slapped across the face. The monster of heartache and pain inside Castiel roars with a vicious triumph.

“I have enough on my plate as it is,” he continues dismissively. “I simply don’t have time to indulge every junior officer who wants to waste my time.”

He straightens, looking away disinterestedly. 

“You’d do best to remember that.”

For a moment, Dean doesn’t speak, merely staring at Castiel, his mouth open in disbelief.

Then he remembers himself, and with a glance at Naomi, he stands up straight, placing his officer’s hat back on his head.

“Yeah,” Dean mutters, lowering his eyes. “Well.”

There’s an awkward cough from Charlie to his left. Castiel ignores her.

“It’s good to see you, again, Cas,” Dean murmurs. “Really.”

Somehow, he makes it sound genuine.

He exits the platform, quickly disappearing into the crowd. 

  
  


Castiel watches Dean go an uneasy curl in his throat. The brief flare of vengeful satisfaction is already leeching away, leaving him feeling brittle and hollow.

Naomi is already busy shooing the officers into the reception hall, for the welcome banquet. Charlie finds Castiel’s arm and squeezes it, her eyes sympathetic.

“Cas?” She asks quietly. “You okay?”

Castiel clenches his jaw.

“Think I might have to get back to you on that."

  
  


x

  
  


Later, after the banquet, after three hours of restless tossing and turning, Castiel slowly gets up, not bothering with shoes. 

Wandering the hallways used to be his favorite pastime. The quiet, the stillness. He still does it, on occasion, when he finds sleep isn’t easy in coming. The lights that try to mimic some semblance of a day and night cycle are dimmed low, the halls empty, most retired to their chambers. 

Castiel makes his way up to the Observation Deck, taking a brief look around. There’s no one there, no one to spy on the captain of their ship, stealing away in the night for some much needed solitude. He walks the ramp to the very top part of the observatory, leaning his arms on the handrail. Castiel used to spend hours here. He would sit and watch the stars turn, feeling at once very small and very infinite. He sits now, staring out at the vast darkness before him. It’s utterly quiet, the electric hum of the ship the only sound in the gloom.

Unbidden, his thoughts turn to the last conversation he had here.

Castiel had just learned he had been chosen to be the next Captain, a highly selective process that he had stressed about for weeks. The first person he wanted to tell was Dean.

But Dean had come with news of his own.

A teaching job at the Academy. Highly prestigious, second probably only to Castiel’s role―but that meant―

“Two years,” Dean said to his hands, his voice flat. “That’s how long I’d be gone.”

Castiel felt his brief taste of happiness deflate like a suit after a spacewalk. 

“Two years?” He echoed, his tongue thick in his mouth. Dean nodded mutely.

“That’s…”

Castiel bit his lip. 

“Wow,” is all he managed.

“Yeah,” Dean muttered.

There was a long moment where neither of them spoke.

“So…”

Castiel hardly dared to say it.

“I’m guessing you knew that when you applied,” he said flatly.

Dean nodded again.

“Didn’t really account for you becoming the Captain,” he muttered.

Anger flared within Castiel.

“What, because you think I wouldn’t get it?”

“No!” Dean said immediately, looking up. “God, no, Cas, of course not. Why would you think that?”

“I’m thinking a lot of things right now,” Castiel shot back.

Dean shut his mouth angrily. 

“I guess...I guess it’s just hitting me how long two years really is,” he said finally.

Castiel sucked in a breath, stunned.

“You’re not serious,” he whispered. Dean dragged a hand down his face, avoiding his eyes.

“I don’t know, Cas!” He said, voice rising in the quiet. “I mean...you’ll have your job, Cas, I'll have mine...who knows if you’ll have any time for me―”

“Oh, _I_ won’t have time for you?” Castiel repeated scathingly. God, he should have known, it’s just like Dean―shove the blame off himself and project it onto Castiel instead of owning his feelings like an adult. 

“Just say you don’t want to be with me and get it over with,” he snapped.

“Cas…” Dean started.

Castiel couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t believe this was happening.

Dean sighed, breath shaky.

“I―”

Castiel looked up. 

He saw the look in Dean’s eyes and he didn’t let him finish. He didn’t let him break his heart.

He ran like a coward.

  
  
  
  


Castiel wipes angrily at his eyes, banishing the memory. He can’t change the past, so he might as well not dwell on it.

He looks up, at the wilderness of the stars. They shimmer gently against the blank expanse, his constant companions. Castiel can tell you the distance between Betelguese and Rigel, can calculate the time it would take to travel to Sirius and back, but he could never navigate his own life so surely. 

If only humans could be as constant as the Heavens. 

  
  


Behind him, the floor creaks softly. Castiel goes still.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean murmurs.

  
  
  


Castiel turns, glancing over his shoulder.

Dean is standing at the end of the platform, in his sleep pants and shirt. He looks so different out of his uniform. Softer. More like himself.

“Dean,” Castiel says, unable to stop the name from coming to his lips.

Dean responds with a bashful smile, one hand twisting nervously into the hem of his shirt.

“Figured I'd find you here."

He glances out at the stars, then back to Castiel.

“You mind if I join you?”

Castiel swallows, but looks away, saying nothing.

Dean seems to take that as permission, and sits, legs hanging over the edge of the deck, next to Castiel.

There once was a time when they’d sit close enough for their knees to knock, their hands lacing over the railing as Dean told stories, weaving grand tales of the constellations and their histories, while Castiel listened, enraptured.

Now the distance of that memory feels vast, lightyears away. They’re both quiet, not speaking a word. The silence is thin, fragile as glass.

“Cas―”

So Dean will be the one to break it.

He pauses, brow furrowing as he searches for words. Castiel bristles, waiting for it.

“Look,” Dean says, turning to face him. “I get it. You don’t want anything to do with me. But―”

“You’re right,” Castiel interrupts fiercely. “I don’t.”

  
  


Dean goes silent beside him. When Castiel finally musters the courage to look up, Dean is staring at him, hopeless and broken.

“Can you at least let me explain?” His voice comes out low and hoarse.

Castiel is torn. Half of him melts, seeing Dean so desperate. But the other half, the rational part of him that remembers the danger of falling for Dean Winchester cautions him, telling him the smartest thing he can do right now is walk away, and never open his heart again. 

He lowers his head, exhaling heavily.

“I can’t,” he mutters. “Dean, I just…can’t.”

“You’re angry,” Dean says softly. Castiel scoffs.

“You’re damn right I'm angry,” he mutters. “And I don’t care about any half-assed apology you have for me, not now. Too little, too late.”

He moves back from the railing, pushing himself up. Tears are starting to come to his eyes, hot and bitter, and he’ll be damned if he’ll let Dean see him cry.

“Cas, wait―”

He reaches out, grabbing his hand. 

Castiel freezes, rooted to the spot. Dean is frozen too, looking down at their joined hands. He doesn’t let go, though.

“Just...slow down, will ya?” Dean says, and there’s a hint of a laugh there, the way he always sounded when he would talk Castiel off the ledge. But now, it only ignites the rage inside him, and Castiel rips his arm from Dean’s grasp, whirling on him.

“No!” Castiel yells, shattering the silence. “You left, and you don’t get to do this now, you don’t get to come waltzing back into my life like everything’s fine―”

Dean’s eyes widen, he holds up his hands.

“Cas―”

“You broke up with _me_ , remember?” 

“No, I didn’t, Cas, will you shut up for two seconds and listen?”

Surprisingly, Castiel does. He blinks, slightly stunned at Dean’s words.

What is he talking about?

“Look,” Dean says quickly, probably to prevent Castiel from shouting again. “I only applied to the stupid Academy because Sammy was too―he was freaking out about the process, so I did it with him, just to show him it was nothing. He’s the smart one, so never in a million years did I think they’d choose me, too.”

Castiel crosses his arms, huffing under his breath. Even if he does hate him right now, it always hurts to hear Dean undersell himself.

“The moment I found out, all I wanted to do was talk to my best friend about how fucking scared I was.” Dean sighs. “And then you said you were picked to be Captain, and it all just...seemed too much.”

He looks down, twisting his hands.

“I panicked. God—somehow had it in my mind that the minute I told you you wouldn’t want to be with me, that there wouldn’t be any room in your life for me anymore. And seeing you in that moment, you were so excited, and then it just slid off your face…"

Castiel remembers. Shit, he had been so happy, so proud—and when Dean told him…

He’d never been good at hiding his feelings, not with Dean. 

He turns over their last conversation in his mind and all at once it seems to click, now that he knows what Dean must have thought.

“I jumped to conclusions,” Dean admits quietly. “I was...so afraid you wouldn’t want to do the long distance thing for two years so I….kind of...let you break us up before I could.”

Castiel stares at him, a painful bubble of emotion rising in his throat. _Oh._

Dean continues.

“If anything, I wanted you to ask me to stay.” He lowers his head, dragging a hand through his short hair. “Which was wrong. I get that now.”

  
  


He looks up, huffing out a feeble laugh.

“Believe me, Cas,” he says lowly. “It took me all of about an hour to realize how badly I fucked up. But by that time the solar flares were surging and we had to go.”

Dean bites at his lip.

“I looked for you. I tried. But you had locked yourself away in a meeting and I didn’t get to say goodbye. You didn’t let me,” he finishes, a sad bitter note in his voice.

Castiel cannot speak, in shock. He never knew. He’d always thought...after that conversation, that Dean had left without so much as a glance back.

“You…” 

He eventually trails off. He has no words.

Dean takes a tentative step forward.

“And you know what it’s like out there. The distances are too far, so they restrict communication.” He shrugs, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. “Doesn’t mean I didn’t try, though.”

“What?” Castiel asks.

“I tried to send transmissions back,” Dean says, rushing out the words. “Every day for a month. They kept telling me personal messages weren’t allowed. I even tried to break into the control center after hours.”

“Dean,” Castiel breathes, awed and horrified all at once. “You didn’t.”

Dean chuckles.

“Nearly got myself tossed out of the airlock for that one.”

His teeth return to his lip again, his green eyes hesitant.

“Sam said I was crazy. I just told him he’d never been in love.”

Castiel's throat goes dry.

They’d never said, not even before Dean left. But Castiel knew he was. Only love leaves that big and jagged of a hole.

“That’s why,” he says softly. “Why I never heard from you the whole two years.”

“And three months, and six days,” Dean says quietly. 

Castiel bites his lip.

“Yeah,” Dean says softly. “I was counting, too.”

He sighs, spreading his hands.

“So, yeah. I messed up. And I get it if you never want to talk to me again, I just―”

Dean never finishes his speech because he doesn't need to. In three swift steps, Castiel has reached him and pulled him in by the front of his shirt.

Dean makes a soft noise of surprise as Castiel presses their lips together, but he quickly gets on board, pulling Castiel in by his waist, kissing him back. And he no longer needs to dream about Dean’s warmth, his lips underneath his, the dry rough touch of his palm coming to cup Castiel’s cheek. He’s here, and he’s real, and he’s never going to let him get away again.

Dean pulls back slightly, pressing his forehead against Castiel’s.

“Damn,” he breathes. “I missed that.”

Castiel tightens his grip.

“Dean, I’m so sorry,” he whispers.

“Yeah,” Dean chuckles. “So am I.”

He licks his lips, looking down at Castiel’s.

“I was an idiot,” he murmurs, and the sound rumbles through his chest. Castiel shivers.

“I should have just told you,” Dean finishes, shaking his head slightly.

“Yes,” Castiel says, bumping their noses together. “You should have.”

Dean laughs, and it’s possibly the most beautiful sound Castiel’s ever heard.

“There’s the asshole I remember.”

They both grin, just basking in their closeness, breathing quietly.

“So.”

“So.”

Castiel clears his throat.

“So, this whole time, we wanted to be with each other and we just...weren’t.”

Dean chuckles.

“Sounds like it.”

“Wow.”

Castiel shakes his head.

“We’re a couple of dumbasses.”

Dean laughs again. 

“Sums up the last fifteen years of us knowing each other.” He reaches out tentatively, fingers brushing Castiel’s. “Don’t you think?”

Castiel smiles, turning his hand up so Dean can thread their fingers together. He knows they so much they still have to say, so much to catch up on to fix everything that’s broken between them.

  
  


By a backdrop of stars, Dean kisses him once more, and well―that’s as good a start as any. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
